


Cool Guys Don't Blush

by StormyInk



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Hate Crimes, Time Skips, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-23
Updated: 2013-11-26
Packaged: 2018-01-02 10:20:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1055636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StormyInk/pseuds/StormyInk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Jean wants in life is to be cool. JeanKasa week drabbles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Jean wasn't the smartest or strongest of men. He never really thought of himself as noble or heroic—he was a realist, after all—but he had guts when it counted and he could pull a few miracles out of his ass every now and then.

When he'd first laid eyes on Mikasa Ackerman he'd felt his heart jump into his throat, his ribcage squeeze his lungs. It had been their first year in high school and she had walked right past him in the halls ethereally and as cliché as he knew it was, he'd felt his entire world slow down.

She was beautiful, that much was obvious but it wasn't what held him so enraptured, so breathless—no, what held Jean enslaved was how she moved, the subtle grace with which she stepped, the way the crowds he had to shove through every morning parted for her instantly, unquestioningly, a queen amongst commoners.

Dully he saw that he wasn't the only one watching her, other boys eyeing her with the same glazed, stupefied look he probably wore—but of course she'd have a horde of morons watching her; because the effect she had wasn't at all common, not a bright or popular aura, nothing like the girl-next-door type bit—but the kind of girl who'd chew you up and spit you out, the kind of girl who'd shake up even the coolest cats, the kind of girl who'd claw your heart out and leave her mark on you to remember until you were an old man.

The dark mysterious heroine he found in his comic books and video games but never in real life. The kind of girl that would most definitely never give him a chance, the realist within him warned.

But Jean could try to make miracles happen every now and then.

He'd tried to call her but his voice hadn't really worked for a second—his  _brain_ had hardly been working—and he'd word vomited the broken thoughts that had been ringing in his skull, making her pause and turn mid-step.

"Hey, ah…I haven't seen you before…" She'd given him a very unflappable look and he'd swallowed, the force of her entire focus on him making his hands shake.  _Be smooth. Confident. Debonair. Give her your most devastating look._ He smiled, hoping it looked cool and composed. "You have pretty black hair."

_Fuck._

She blinked at him, her dark eyes curiously blank and mystifying and he half-wondered if she'd even heard or seen him at all. "Thanks."

_No. Wait, shit, I screwed up,_ his mind screamed but all he'd done was stammer and stumble after her, flustered and blushing and— _cool guys don't blush._

But she'd kept walking, slipping farther and farther away as the crowds thwarted his attempts to go after her. He'd slumped against the wall, felt like withering right then and there.  _How the hell was that smooth Jean?_  He kept watching her as she reached the front doors, until she caught up with Eren—of all the douche bags it could have been—and he'd touched her hair so carelessly, so flippantly, muttering something at her with his stupid face.

And his stomach had never felt so knotted.

He'd never had a woman affect him so strongly—except for maybe Christa but who  _wasn't_ affected by Christa?—and even as time slipped by Jean discovered that no one else had ever been able to enchant him the way Mikasa Ackerman had.

* * *

It was months later that Jean had had another chance to try to impress her. Another chance to be cool.

"Ackerman," The teacher snapped at Mikasa, breaking Jean from his day dream, walking over to the back of the classroom where she sat at her desk.

Where Jean sat behind her and watched her like the desperate, love-sick fool he was.

"Why aren't you writing anything down?" The teacher—Levi, or some crap like that— murmured, scanning her empty hands. "Don't you have a pen?"

She set her jaw. "No."

He arched a brow arrogantly,  _glaring_ at her, and Jean huffed a little.  _How dare he._  "Why not, Ackerman?"

_Because I have it,_ Jean remembered.

He fumbled for a few seconds, burying his hands into his jacket pockets and scrabbling, rummaging through gum wrappers, erasers and crumbs until he found it. He'd seen her sitting at the library earlier, watched as she'd cracked several books open and spread them over the table, pale fingers twirling a blue plastic pen, pale pink lips parted, her small, sharp white teeth chewing at the very tip.

And the bell had rung and she scrambled to stack and stuff everything into her bag and she'd left before he could offer to help her carry it all—when he'd spotted her bitten pen forgotten on the wooden table.

And if Connie had called him a creep for possessively pocketing it he'd stoutly ignored him.

"I lost it." Mikasa answered after several moments.

Levi pressed his lips into a thin line. "Do you know the consequences of coming to class without proper—"

"I've got her pen." He leaned over his desk towards hers, swallowing thickly, reaching forward to clumsily place it on her scarred desk, her hair inches from his cheek. "You left it at the library this morning." He felt his voice drop several notches, her nearness leaving him breathless.

Her hair smelled like flowers. Fresh and cool and intoxicating.

Just the way he'd imagined it would.

She looked at him from over her shoulder, her face a breath away from his, blinking a little owlishly. Slowly, her fingers curled about it, giving him the faintest of smiles as she pressed it back to her soft lips, her nod small. "Thank you, Jean."

_She knows my name._

_Say something cool, Jean, she's looking at you, now's your shot._

He felt himself flush. "Yeah."

A small frown scored her pale brow—and before he could recover he heard Connie speak up from the front of the class. "Jean's trying to score."

Jean scowled. "Connie, I swear to—"

"Sit down." Levi snapped, and Jean obeyed weakly. "Morons, all of you."

"I don't think teachers are allowed to call students names." Connie continued.

"Shut up, Springer." Levi sat back at his desk.

"Yeah, can it,  _Springer_." Sasha taunted, mimicking Levi's clipped tone, flipping her hair over her shoulder. "Do you know what the consequences of disrupting the class are?" She arched a brow playfully, arrogantly.

Connie gave a cry of betrayal and as the rest of the class erupted into conversation and laughter Mikasa twisted in her chair, slipping him a small note.

It took Jean several minutes to comprehend that  _Mikasa Ackerman_ had slipped  _him_ a note and when he finally managed to clumsily unfold it, her prettily scrawled words leapt out at him.

_I owe you one._

He flushed intensely, swallowing, watching her tuck a stray slip of black hair behind her ear as she slid him another glance.

"Are you okay?" She murmured discreetly, making sure the teacher was still preoccupied with Sasha and Connie.

"Y-yeah."

"Your skin is very flushed."

_Shit._ "I…felt a little feverish this morning."

"Oh."

Silence enveloped them. He shifted.

"What kind of shampoo do you use?" He blurted.

She gave him that curious look again. "I don't really stick to one. Whatever is in the shower is what I use."

He bit the inside of his cheek. "It always…looks very shiny."  _And soft._

"Thanks. Are you sure you're okay?"

He nodded. "I'm fine." He lied.

_You noticed me. You remembered my name. You slipped me a note._

_I'm fucking fantastic._

* * *

Jean was sitting alone at lunch picking distastefully at a  _salad_ when he saw Mikasa sitting across the lunch room, surrounded by her usual group of Sasha, Eren and Armin. She looked up at the same exact same second he did, their gazes touching, his skin heating up as his heart pounded.

She frowned a little, looking away as she stood and Jean cursed himself.  _Shit, she's going to think I was watching her. She's going to think I'm such a creep. How do I backtrack from this?_

And he'd been much too preoccupied with his whirlwind of thoughts to notice that she was standing in front of him with a small bowl and water bottle on her lunch tray.

"Mikasa?" His voice cracked as his spine snapped to attention.

"You still look feverish." She slid the tray towards him. "You need liquids."

"Ah, thank you…"

But she was already walking away, tugging up her scarf with a pale finger.

She didn't know that he only looked feverish because he was blushing. She didn't know that  _reason_ he was blushing was because he'd been caught looking at her. She didn't know the reason he was eating a salad was because he'd forgotten his lunch and he detested cafeteria food, would rather eat cardboard because it probably tasted better.

And, he thought as he lifted the spoon to his lips, she'd never know that the watery soup she'd slid him was the best fucking soup he'd ever tasted.


	2. Confessions and Wounds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings...Stereotypical high school parties, drunken confessions and make out sessions, hate crimes, violence and blood. Oh, also sprinkled in some Eren x Armin. 
> 
> Thanks to my friend Mitch for letting me use one of his horrible personal experiences in this bit. I love you to pieces and I'd whack a hundred guys with a baseball bat to protect you.

It was at a lame party that Jean finally managed to scrape up enough of a backbone to confess to her—all shaky breaths, scattered thoughts and desperate determination, the embodiment of painful hope.

It was that night that Jean finally understood just how  _deeply_ he felt for her, how much rage and terror one man could feel when he saw someone hurt the woman they loved.

It was a night Jean would much, much rather forget.

It was a night Jean never would.

The weather was stifling and humid, the after graduation pool party Jean had decided to go to making him feel sluggish and bored. He'd seen most of his classmates here and he wasn't having a  _bad_ time but he was feeling restless, his eyes combing the ever thickening crowd for a certain face.

"Hey, Connie." Jean called and Connie threw a small beer pong ball—and Sasha (in a dress and heels) swung a wooden baseball bat, throwing the ball right back at Connie's chest.

Connie caught the small crushed ball. "Yeah?"

"You said Eren was coming, right?"

Connie threw the crushed beer pong bottle over his shoulder. "Yeah. Well, I think Mikasa said no and he said yes. But of course if Eren comes Mikasa will come, but Eren said he wanted to come  _alone_."

Sasha put down the bat, tucking a potato chip into her mouth. She spoke while she chewed. "He'll probably try to shake her off and sneak out or something."

Jean clenched his jaw.  _How stupid can a guy get?_

Christa, who stood with Ymir's arms wrapped around her, finally spoke, biting the tip of her thumb pensively. "I still don't know what I'm going to study. I can't believe we've graduated already."

"Play baseball," Sasha wiggled her bat in emphasis. "Like me."

Christa wrinkled her nose. "I could never hit the ball." She elbowed Ymir before she could make a teasing comment about her size, looking to Jean. "What are you going for, Jean?"

Jean still searched the crowds. "Photography."

"Huh," Christa murmured. "What's Mikasa going—?"

"Mikasa!" Sasha suddenly called, and they all turned. Mikasa, Eren and Armin were slipping through the sliding doors and into the back lawn. As they passed the pool a very scantily clad girl leapt into it and Mikasa yanked both Eren and Armin away from the splash.

Eren huffed, looking flushed, perhaps a little drunk, ripping away from Mikasa's hold. "You didn't have to do that."

Mikasa pressed her lips together. "I didn't want you to get wet."

"We're at a  _pool party_ Mikasa, what did you think we came here for?" He snapped.

"Eren," Armin called, a bit more softly, touching Eren's shoulder comfortingly. "She was only trying—"

"I came here to protect you." Mikasa clenched her fists.

"From water?" Eren bit out. "No. You just came here to hover over me and suffocate me like you always do."

"Eren." Mikasa whispered, and there was a wealth of pain in her voice, a pain that made Jean step forward involuntarily, tongue thick with fury.

"Just for once, Mikasa." Eren's voice softened—and Jean paused at the vulnerability it exposed. "For  _once_  can you let me have a little fun?"

Mikasa seemed to struggle with herself for several moments, then nodded. "Go on, then. I'll be right here."

He smiled at her. "Thank you." He grabbed Armin's wrist. "Come on, let's go swim!"

Mikasa watched them darkly for a few moments, saw them run to the other side of the yard—before Sasha walked up to her and tugged her towards their group. He watched Sasha hover over her for several moments, hoped that Sasha could cheer her up—but Mikasa stayed stony, looked as if she wanted to be anywhere but there.

 _Think of something to tell her,_ Jean told himself.  _Something to distract her. Make her happy._

Sasha looked at Mikasa's grim expression worriedly, pressing a chip to her hard mouth tentatively. "You hungry, Mikasa?"

Mikasa shook her head and Sasha ate the chip instead, looking thoughtful as she chewed. "You sure?" She pressed another potato chip to her insistently. "Just one?" She coaxed.

Mikasa ate the chip grudgingly, and Sasha smiled at her happily, hugging her tightly.

And for a split second Jean was immensely envious of Sasha.

Jean watched Mikasa's lowered eyes, saw the strain around her mouth, the crease in her small forehead as she finished chewing, how difficult it looked as she swallowed.

He spoke up. "Ah, Mikasa, you look…"  _Sad._ "You look pretty."

She looked at him, her gaze flat. "Thank you."

Ymir snorted, ignoring Christa's muffled admonishment. "Smooth."

"Jean's trying to score." Connie sniggered.

Sasha smiled through the half chewed chips in her mouth, leaning her baseball bat over her shoulder.  _"Again."_

Jean scowled at them—traitors—then looked at Mikasa. She hadn't seemed to hear—or care—what Connie or Sasha had said, her dark eyes only watching the way Eren was dragging Armin into the pool insistently, lifting him over his shoulder when he fought him, laughing as they fell into the water, clothes and shoes and all.

He cleared his throat. He didn't like how miserable she looked—could see it through her stoic façade. He grabbed a beer can. "Mikasa would…would you like a drink?"

She shook her head. "No."

He put it back down, shifted back and forth from foot to foot, tried to think of something as the music slowed down, saw Christa drag Ymir over next to the speakers, begging her to dance—when it hit him.

Yeah, he could do that.

He blushed furiously with his next question. He took a deep breath, rolled his shoulders, casually leaning against the wall behind him.  _Cool guys pose like this, Jean._ Of course cool guys didn't blush as they did their cool guy poses but he could blame his red skin on the alcohol, he hoped.

"Would you like to maybe…ah, dance?"

She looked at him for a very long, very silent moment. Her dark eyes searched his, scanning over his features in a very intimate, very thorough exploration and he wondered what she saw. Wondered what she was looking for.

Her lips parted and he braced himself for rejection. "Okay."

Jean rocked back on his heels. "Okay?"

She nodded. "Okay."

He looked at Connie and Sasha in bafflement.  _She'd said okay?_

Connie shoved him towards Mikasa. "She said okay, man!"

Sasha shoved at Jean's backside with her bat. "Go get 'em, tiger."

_She'd really said okay?_

And then he was in front of her, her dark eyes on his, waiting.

_Move!_

"Let's…dance somewhere else." He reached for her hand tentatively, his fingertips rasping across her palm.  _Fuck, I'm sweating._ He linked their fingers, swallowing, praying she didn't pull away, didn't change her mind, praying he didn't screw this up. "Over here."

They walked across the lawn, and Jean was careful when her heels sank into the grass.

"I could carry you." He half-joked when her heel sunk into the lawn for the sixth time.

She said nothing, her gaze lingering over her shoulder, searching.

For Eren, most likely.

Jean paused when they reached the corner of the yard, the ground gradually hardening from muddy grass to damp cobblestone, a small vine wrapped porch dripping with small flickering lights above them. Her heels clicked as he led her under the small garden overhead, his body shaking as he tentatively pressed her against his chest. They were far enough that they could speak without having to shout, but close enough that the music still teemed about them, and no one was really around, the moon was glowing brightly over them, the lights casting her in a soft glow—and it was a perfect setting.

It was the perfect time.

He could finally tell her.

And fuck he was shaking like mad.

"Are you cold?" She murmured, sliding her pale fingers over his chest, slipping them onto his broad shoulders, still looking half-distracted.

 _I'm nervous._ He placed his hand against the small of her back, spanning his fingers wide, his other hand tentatively touching her side. "Just, ah, too much beer. Feel a little woozy." He lied, a little too thickly, trying to quit his trembles as they began to gently sway. "Hey, Mikasa…"

_I can do this. I really can. High school is over and this is your last shot._

They heard the distant sound of raucous laughter, and Jean spared a disinterested glance, seeing the football team gathered out in the parking lot, huddled around a car.

He inhaled.

And exhaled.

And  _fuck_ he couldn't, he couldn't.

He bowed out.

"I'm really happy you came to the party." His fingers tightened around her hip.

She looked up at him—sort of, her heels almost put her at the same height as him—and her brow held a slight furrow, her eyes locking onto his.

Such pretty eyes. He could sink into them.

He could sink into her.

She could swallow him whole.

She looked away—and leaned her head on his chest, her nails biting into the tops of his shoulders. "Eren isn't." She whispered, her breath brushing his sweaty throat, chills prickling across his skin.

"Eren's an idiot." He blurted and to his complete and utter surprise he heard her give the smallest huff of laughter.

"You've never liked him." She states the obvious, her hair tickling his cheek now.

"That's not why I'm saying it." He inhaled the scent of her hair as discreetly as he could, shutting his eyes as he pressed his cheek against the top of her head. He struggled with the urge to press her against his chest so tightly he'd break his own ribs. "I'm calling him an idiot because any guy would be lucky to have you love him."

She froze.

So did he.

"Ah, I mean, I meant—I didn't—"

She pulled away, pink staining the tops of her cheekbones. "He's my family."

"Yeah, I know."  _Shit._ "I'm just—you know, talking out of my ass. The jealousy screws me up and makes me say stupid crap." He says before he realizes what he's admitting.

Still, she watches him, the moonlight catching in her eyes, in her hair, painting her in silver. And he wishes he had his camera on him. She hesitates but asks nonetheless. "Jealousy?"

Yeah, jealousy. Possessiveness. Every other pathetic emotion he could name. "Of Eren. Of the way you…act with him." His fingers bunched the fabric at her back, his jaw setting, the words clawing up his throat. "I'm jealous of when you touch him. I'm jealous of the way you worry about him. I feel like I'm going to go crazy whenever he yells at you, or pushes you away—I feel like he doesn't  _deserve_ you." He swallowed, refusing to look away from her gaze as the alcohol began turning the locks, chains dropping away with each word. "I'm even jealous of  _Armin._ " His breaths were quick, his hand gripping at her ribs, hard enough to bruise, he was sure. "I'm jealous of any guy that looks at you for more than two seconds. Feel like tearing their fucking eyes out." He touched his forehead to hers, shut his eyes, breathing her in. "I want you all to myself."

_I'm in love with you. I want to be with you. Please, oh god, please._

"Jean…" She whispered—and he felt her pulling away.

He let her go, blushing fiercely, touching the back of his neck, looking up at the sky as the pain ripped into him. At least he'd finally told her. "I'm sorry. I know you don't…feel that way for me. You probably get this sort of thing all the time."

He'd lost his cool. He was supposed to dance with her, whisper sweet nothings, make her laugh and be suave. Instead he'd drunkenly confessed, probably scared the fuck out of her with what he'd admitted.

But this scared him, too.

"I don't."

He looked down at her at that—saw her wrap her arms around herself.

"You…" He could still hear the stupid guys laughing at something, wished they'd shut up. "You don't?"

She shook her head, tugging her scarf up over her little nose, her eyes peering at him from above the scarlet fabric. "No one else has ever looked at me…the way you do."

_Good._

He fumbled towards her, his breath hitching. "Mikasa…" His shaking hands found her waist, and before he knew what the hell he was doing he had her gathered against his chest, his hand tugging her scarf away from her mouth. "I love you…" He felt her give a sharp inhale as his mouth hovered over hers, his fingers angling her jaw up clumsily. She was surprised, he realized dully, either that he was kissing her or because he'd told her he loved her. He wondered how blind she could be to never see how much she made him burn.

"Mikasa, let me…" She parted her lips for him and he leaned forward, catching her mouth. He slid his mouth over hers slowly at first, unsurely. But she threaded her fingers into his hair, slanting her head beneath his, letting him deeper into her mouth and a groan snagged in his throat. He bit her lip lightly, swept his tongue into her mouth, the taste of her making his heart pound viciously, his feet moving forward of their own will. He backed her against the vine blanketed wall, lifting her high enough so that she could wrap her long legs around his waist, nearly choking on his breath when she did. He pressed his hips against hers, grinding, cursing when she dug her nails into the back of his shirt, clawing at his skin. "I love you." He growled again, tracing his mouth down her neck, his hands gripping her thighs, tugging them up higher on his waist. "You don't know how long I've wanted to tell you…"

And he was insanely stupid, he was a  _fucking_ moron but he paused in the middle of pulling her skirt up, pulled his head back enough to look at her.

"Mikasa…"  _Just kiss her, don't stop, what the fuck are you thinking?_ He grimaced, restraining himself physically painful—almost impossible when she bit her bottom lip and arched into him.

But he didn't just want this to be  _one_ night, even if this was turning out to be the best night of his entire, short, uneventful life. He didn't want to take her while he was drunk. He didn't want her to do this just because she was hurt over Eren.

He wanted this for the rest of his life.

"Mikasa, I…"

The sound of an enraged cry tore through the air, followed by laughter.

But it wasn't what made them both freeze, what froze away the flames of his passion—it was the  _voice_  of the cry that startled him.

Because it belong to—

"Eren," Mikasa breathed, ripping away from him.

Jean looked to the parking lot again, seeing the guys still huddled around a car—dully realized it was Mikasa's car.

Another cry, Eren sounding agonized, infuriated.

" _Let him go!"_

"Eren," Mikasa breathed again, almost in disbelief.

Jean looked to the parking lot—cursed when he saw two guys holding a smaller one. The smaller guy was struggling, his shiny blonde hair mussed, squirming until a guy punched him and he went limp and oh fuck it was _Armin_  they were hitting _._

"Fuck." Jean hissed, fumbling for his cell phone. "Mikasa, wait, don't. We need to—" and then Mikasa shot forward, tearing across the lawn like a bullet. "Shit." Jean bolted after her. "Connie!" He called out, seeing him pause in the middle of taking a picture of a posing Sasha. "Call the fucking cops!"

Mikasa reached the guys before he could get there, and they were too stunned to react as she crashed into the two guys holding Armin, slamming them against a parked car violently, their heads snapping against the metal.

Jean caught Armin, lifting him to his feet, felt his slim body buckle—saw blood dripping at his temple. "Armin—fuck, Armin, hold on."

"Jean!" Eren screamed, struggling against the guy who had him in a chokehold. "Take Armin away." Eren choked out, his green eyes desperate.

And Jean didn't want to leave, could see Eren could barely breathe, saw Mikasa struggling as all the guys started to grab at her, but  _fuck_ Armin was bleeding and why the fuck was no one  _helping_ them? "I've got you, Armin." Jean lifted Armin—and felt someone punch his gut, knocking him back on his ass, Armin's limp body smacking sharply against the asphalt.

Jean looked back up, struggling to breathe—found a monster of a man leering over him. Someone grabbed him from behind, wrapping his arm around Jean's throat, cutting off his air.

"You a queer, too?" The guy in front of him asked.

_A what?_

He saw a crowd gathering about them, watching, none of them  _helping_ and the guy pulled him onto his feet, tightening his arm to keep him still.  _This is bad,_ Jean thought.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" His lip curled as he growled, his fists aching to crack across the guy's face—but fuck, there were so many of them and the corners of his vision were darkening as it got harder to breathe.

"A  _queer_." The guy repeated cruelly, his teeth bared in a sneer. "Found these two dry humping each other on the hood of their car." He reached down, picking up Armin by the back of his wet jacket. "Moaning and making out and shit."

_Eren and Armin?_

And Jean was momentarily too stunned to comprehend, saw the way Eren desperately tried to break free, remembered the way Eren and Armin always sort of clung to each other, the way Mikasa protected them with tooth and nail and  _oh._

Oh.

"We always thought this one was gay." He ruffled Armin's hair, then looked back at Eren. "Didn't expect Yeager, though." He laughed now.

And then Mikasa leapt onto the guy's back, wrapping her arm around his neck and ripping him backwards. The guy dropped Armin—and Jean elbowed the asshole holding him, tearing free, catching Armin and hefting his limp body over his shoulder.

He hesitated, leaning against the car to catch his breath, knowing he needed to get Armin the hell out of there but— "Mikasa."

"Go!" She said, only slightly breathless as she flipped the guy onto his back, kicking him, her heel slicing across jaw. "I'll handle them."

_There's too many. Even for you._

_And why the fuck is no one helping?_

Jean whirled, tried to run with him, knew Armin needed to get to the hospital right away—but the other guys blocked him, four of them, all as big as fucking horses.

"The cops are already on their way." Jean snarled, balling his fists. "You guys are getting jail time for this shit."

The guys lunged at him—but he twisted away, sliding across the hood of a car, struggling to keep Armin up—but the guys were already rounding the car. They grabbed at him, tearing Armin out of his arms.

"Fuckers!" He punched, elbowed but there were too many of them and only one of him. He felt someone grab the back of his hair and yank until his scalp stung—and they had him against the car, punching and kicking him until he couldn't fucking breathe.

Dully, he saw Sasha and Connie running towards them.

"Jean, duck!"

And he wasn't stupid so he did.

Sasha swung her baseball bat, whacking the guy holding him hard enough to send him spinning. "I'm sorry!" And she seemed to mean it even as she kept swinging, Connie freeing Eren.

Sasha swung again but the guy caught the bat as it flew at his face, ripping it out of her hands and throwing it across the car.

And Jean was struggling with another asshole, lunging before the guy could get a hold of Sasha, not reaching in time—and then Mikasa was there, catching the guy's fist, the heel of her palm crunching the bones in his nose into mush.

The guy gave a muffled scream of pain, crumpling to his knees.

She looked at Jean, her gaze frighteningly dead, her mouth bloodied, the shoulder of her dress torn—and the marks on her pale skin made Jean want to fall apart.

_They fucking hit her._

"Sasha, get Eren." She looked at Armin. "Jean, take him." She faltered slightly, leaning against the car. "I don't think I can lift them."

_I'll carry you._

"Mikasa, don't move, you're—"

"I'm fine.  _Go._ "

Jean flew to his feet, grabbing Armin and Sasha, Connie dragging Eren until they broke through the  _stupid useless_ crowd and they hit the grass.

"Here." Jean shoved Armin at them. "I need to help Mikasa—"

And he felt his blood freeze when he heard her give a muffled scream.

He scrambled up, shoving back through the crowd, hearing another strangled sound—and it was her voice, she was in pain, and he couldn't get through and  _what the fuck were they doing to her?_

"Mikasa!" He broke through again, stumbling—saw three guys holding Mikasa up against a car, twisting her arms back, another guy pulling at her hair, and there was a long line of blood down her arm, and the guy had a _knife_ —and Jean fucking lost it.

And no, Jean wasn't the bravest of men. But he'd be damned if he let  _anyone_ hurt her.

He moved, half numb with horror, half insane with fury, grabbing Sasha's bat off the ground. He gripped it tightly.

"Fuck heads," Jean lifted it, the muscles in his arms bunching. "Let her go!"

He swung, cracking it across guy's side, the grotesque sound of bones breaking snapping through the air. The guy choked, flying back and Jean kept swinging, dropping them to their knees, almost felt like crushing their skulls in but he saw Mikasa's knees fold beneath her—and Jean dropped the bat, grabbing Mikasa before she could hit the ground.

The sound of police sirens sent everyone scattering.

Mikasa struggled against him. "Jean—"

"I've got you." And she was boneless against him, and there was blood all over her hands, hands she used to push away from him. "Mikasa, stop. Just stay still."

_I was so scared._

"Where is Eren?" She crawled until she got to her feet, and he saw tears shimmering in her dark eyes, tears she didn't let fall. "I have to protect Eren." She whispered brokenly.

Jean stood, tried to stop her as she stumbled. "Mikasa, he's fine."

"Eren!" She shoved Jean back, scrabbling when she saw Eren and Armin on the grass. Eren had Armin in his arms, tears streaming down his bloodied face as he buried his face into his blonde hair.

"He's okay, right Mikasa?" Eren rocked back and forth, clutching Armin fitfully. "He's just unconscious." Eren muffled his sobs. "Please be okay."

Mikasa hugged them both, her arm still sliced open, her knuckles white as she held them to her fiercely.

And Jean didn't say much as he watched the police and paramedics swirl about them, saw the way Mikasa held Eren as they rolled Armin into the back of an ambulance. He didn't say anything when Mikasa wrapped her arms around Eren, when she pressed her lips to his forehead, didn't scream even when it felt like his heart had been set on fire. She tangled her pale fingers into Eren's locks.

The way she was holding him made Jean want to fucking throw up.

He knew Eren and Armin apparently had something going on but it was also painfully obvious that Mikasa still loved Eren and…

And she didn't love him.

And she probably never would.

And he'd finally confessed to the love of his fucking life. He'd poured his heart out of his mouth and he'd kissed her and he'd been enough to protect her at the end and he wanted to touch her so very badly—but she was holding  _him._

Until they took Eren away along with Armin.

He reached out before they put her on her own bed.

"Mikasa…"

She shook her head, turning away, and it felt like a knife in his heart, in his throat. "I'm sorry, Jean…"

_I'm sorry._

It was the worst fucking night of his life.

And even as college came, separating them, time unraveling their ties, he never, ever could get Mikasa Ackerman out of his heart.

She was a wound in his soul that time never touched.


	3. Safe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Senseless babbling. I'm having trouble writing the other prompts and the time skip so this sort of flew out of my fingertips instead.
> 
> So here's today's prompt.
> 
> Safe

Mikasa woke feeling someone sit on the bed beside her. Her thoughts were still thickly fogged by sleep and the drugs the nurses had given her, the large slice on her arm reduced to a dull burn—until she rolled over, pressing onto it.

She arched as the pain flared up her neck, making her temples throb, gritting her teeth. She felt large hands grasp her tenderly, pushing her onto her back, a rough hush.

"You're fine." His voice murmured softly, gently. "Go back to sleep."

She forced her heavy lids open. "Jean?"

"Yeah." He pushed her hair away from her forehead, his callused fingers tangling in her locks. "I just wanted to see if you were okay." He cleared his throat, pulling his hands away and folding them in his lap. "Eren and Armin are good. Both asleep, too." He told her quickly, and she was grateful.

Jean was honest. Jean would tell her the truth.

"Mikasa, I…" His breath shuddered. Slowly, unsurely, he reached out, rasping his fingertips over the bandages on her arm, chills prickling across her flesh. "I'm sorry." He bowed his head. "I'm so sorry."

She forced herself to speak through the haze of drugs, through the cotton in her thoughts. She needed to apologize. She needed to tell him that he had no reason to. She needed to thank him. But she was exhausted, she was frail and the words bubbled past her lips before she could think them through. "Jean, what do you…why did you defend me?"

He looked away, his hands clasped together tightly, his jaw clenched. It was strange, a small part of her thought, that he wasn't looking at her.

Because Jean was always watching her.

Even when she often thought she was invisible.

"I love you." He repeated quietly. "I know you don't feel the same way for me. I know you probably never will. Even though it hurts like hell to know that, I could care less. I just wish you would have waited, that you would have listened to me when I told you to stop. But you didn't think about yourself, you just threw yourself in there to protect Eren and I could be pissed at you but…" He shut his eyes, his chest shuddering. "But then I saw the way they had you against the car, the way they were hurting you and I…lost it." He looked at her, and the intimacy his eyes expressed left her feeling shaky. "I needed to protect you and…I want you to love  _me,_ Mikasa, not him. Not anyone else. I want you to see that I'm the guy that'd do anything and everything for you. But more than anything…I just want you to be happy. I want you to be safe—no matter where you go, or who you end up with."

_I want you to be safe._

It was a word that twisted her insides, more so than when he'd confessed he'd loved her. It was a powerful thing, something she strove to give Eren all the time, needed to protect him more than she needed to protect herself.

_Be safe._

It was a humble plea, it demanded nothing. It did not ask for you to love them in return, didn't ask you to bind yourself to them and didn't care if you felt anything or nothing for them. It was a word that did nothing for his own heart.

_Safe._

But it was powerful, as well as humble. It asked you to keep trying, it asked you to keep your head lifted above the waters, it asked you to watch your step, to take care of your body and heart, to protect yourself when they couldn't do it themselves. It was a word that demanded you keep living.

It was a word that demanded everything.

"Jean…" Her eyes were slipping shut against her will.

"Go to sleep, Mikasa." He swallowed audibly. "I'm not supposed to be here, actually." He chuckled weakly. "I'll let you fall asleep now."

A word crawled up her throat, broke past her chapped lips.

"Stay."

_I don't want to be alone._

He was silent for just a fraction of a moment, exhaled shakily before he answered. "Of course." His large hand engulfed hers, lifting it to his bruised cheek. "I'll stay."

She fell asleep with his lips brushing her soft palm, his scent within her lungs, his warmth pressed against her side.

She fell asleep feeling safe.


End file.
